Pandemonium
by aphtrashbin
Summary: In valiantly saving a young man's life, Alfred is pulled into the war of another world by an angel with ridiculous eyebrows and green eyes. But this is a world where magic is real and heroes aren't invincible. Eventual USUK and various. M for future smut


Pandemonium

Summary: In valiantly saving a young man's life, Alfred is pulled into a conflict of an alternate world by an angel with green eyes, a world where magic is real and heroes aren't invincible. Eventual USUK.

A/N: Here's Alex again just to remind new readers I didn't steal this. Lacey gave up her account, and posted that a few days ago. On each of her stories she posted a goodbye notice, and a notice I'd be continuing them. Thanks very much! I don't like hate mail!

Chapter 1

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><p><em>Where in the devil was that Frog?<em> The boy wondered, feeling a slight bit of worry for his companion. He shivered; it was the middle of winter- in actuality, a blizzard. Then again, it was almost always cold here, in Pandemonium, his world. But that aside, he was frigid, wondering where his partner was with greatening annoyance as time passed. The blizzard that surrounded him roared in his ears, and forced the boy to listen intently to anything in his surroundings that could indicate his partner was nearby. Suddenly, he heard the sound of crunching snow, coming from behind him.

His white wings ruffled in his surprise and panic, as green eyes widened as he heard the sound of heavy boots crushing the snow beneath them inching closer to where he was. The boy turned around slowly, trying not to make a single noise. He knew he wasn't supposed to be out, it was past curfew, and if it was them he was hearing….he made a fearful noise in the back of his throat. They would do to him, what they had done to his brothers, back when he was a child- Kill him. Or, they might make him a soldier of the State- but that hardly ever happened.

He pulled out his scythe, ready to fight, despite the fact he was shaking. Next to him, his anima- Kitannia- hissed, the cat's haunches rose in preparation to attack whatever was coming towards him with such heavy footsteps. Green eyes widened in fear as he realized his worst fears were confirmed, it wasn't his frog of a partner returning, it was _them_.

The boy picked up his anima, and placed him in his satchel, despite the kitten's protesting yowls. He couldn't afford to let his anima get hurt. He closed the top of the bag, and attached it to his pants so that it wouldn't be jostled too much.

England had hoped he would live to see past his seventh birthday. He gulped as the soldier of the State came into his line of sight, coming out of the blizzard that made it impossible to see more than five feet in front of you. His weapon gleamed, the large sword in his hands started glowing, as a tiny light- perhaps to get a better look at the boy.

"Oh, so we have another one of you on our hands. Are you going to do this the easy way, or the hard way, kid?" The soldier spoke, his tone teasing, as he was simply messing with the boy. The man's visor shone in the small amount of pale moonlight that could be seen through the blizzard. England didn't bother to give the man an answer, knowing even if he did, it wouldn't change his fate. His green eyes wide, he pulled the scythe in front of him as feeble protection. The man chuckled. "Because that's going to work," he said jokingly, before holding his sword out in front of him, chanting lowly, causing the ruins on the blade to glow.

England's wings were useless in the current weather, so he pulled them in, tight to his body. The man attacked, his sword lashing out, a bright light in the cold, black night. The boy did what he could to hold the man back, but he was far too weak to do so, and ended up being blasted backwards with a cry of pain.

He could hear the man laughing. "Is that all you've got?" England pushed himself back up, and jumped, using a small push with his wings to get more air, even though the snow made it hard to see, and harder still to fly, and tried to slash the man. His green cloak was rustling in the wind, and England cursed as it gave his position away. The man's sword met his scythe, and with the magic from the blades, he was sent careening away once more. The air was knocked out of him, and his scythe fell from his grasp. England cursed as he could no longer see it anywhere nearby him. He felt something like panic settle in his gut, and heard the man striking him once more, this time nicking him in the side with the blade.

He let out a brief cry of pain, and felt his blood, red, sticky, and warm coming out of the wound and staining his white tunic. Trying to ignore the pain so that he would survive, England pulled his bow and arrows out, and aimed at what he thought was the man. He shot, and the gasp of pain let him know that even in the dark and blinding snow, he still had a shot at winning this.

He looked around during the lull in the fighting, desperate to find the scythe one of his brothers had used before their deaths, and didn't realize that the man had snuck up behind him. At the last moment, he heard the noise, and turned to try and avoid getting struck straight through the back. It instead cut along his side, making him scream in pain.

The man laughed as he pulled his sword away, dripping with the blood of the little boy. England fell forward, before standing back up-shaking with the effort and the cold that met his skin with the cut fabric.

His green eyes widened as he saw his scythe directly behind the man. As the soldier prepared his sword to attack once more, England took off, his white wings beating furiously in the wind to get over head. The sound of the wind screamed in his ears, but he couldn't bring himself to care. As soon as he was over the man's head, he dove for the scythe, only to hear the man laugh.

"An angel, are ya? Oh, the doc's are gonna _love_ you!" England felt fear settle in his gut when the man said that. The doc's he was referring to were myths of hear-say, and all the stories the little boy knew where of short painful lives before miserable, often meaningless deaths in pitiful attempts to escape the torture of the 'doc's'.

England landed, and pulling the scythe up, he felt weak, his wounds bleeding with his warm lifeblood, and he noticed that whatever vision the boy had was starting to fade. Scythe in his hands; he looked up to the man who had cornered him on that snowy night. He felt hot tears form in the corners of his eyes, and he felt that this was it. He didn't have the strength to keep fighting the man; he couldn't do anything else other than _hope _that this wasn't going to be the end of him.

He closed his eyes as the man raised his sword again. _So, they want me dead before they take my body_. He thought, resigning to his fate with a sort of feeling of regret. _I'm sorry, Scotland, Ireland, Wales…_

"_Angleterre!"_ Huh, that was funny… that almost sounded like…. France's voice…the little boy's vision began fading into darkness, and the last thing he saw was a sword being run through the soldier, and feeling the hot, sticky liquid start to gush onto his own, young face, and then a fuzzy outline of his partner, France, appear above him. After that, he was lost to the oblivion of unconsciousness.

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><p><strong>16 Years Later<strong>

England woke up in a panic. He sat up, clutching at his sides- where only moments before he had been bleeding profusely. And then the blond twenty-two year old realized something. "It was just a dream." He spoke with certainty and relief, while his anima, Kitannia meowed at him with annoyance. Obviously, the cat had wanted some extra sleep. But, both anima and angel knew the fact that they didn't have that luxury.

They were once again going to try and find the so-called leader of their kind- the Native-Borne- to lead them in the coming battle between magical, and the non-magical.

You see, the reason things were the way they were was because of a civil war fought when England was very little. In that war, Magical people, the people with powers, were attacked by the non-magical people of the world. Unfortunately, the non-magical people of the world learned how to manipulate magic through objects, and could defeat them that way. As of his fourth birthday, all Magical people were to be hunted down, and killed.

That had been changed as soon as the non-magical people realized that with the deaths of the magical Native-Borne, the world itself was losing its magic. They learned that when he was thirteen, and instead of killing the Native-Borne, they had enslaved them. There was a very small faction of Native-Borne that had managed to escape their claws and form a feeble resistance to their demands.

Ancient Greece, a great Oracle until she was killed, spoke of a man who was supposed to save them. A man who belonged in this world but lived in another. One that England had been trying to track down since he was fifteen. Many people called him crazy for it. There hadn't been a superhuman since the race was killed off, what was the likelihood of one existing? And then there was the problem that he, the last _true_ angel, was wasting his time looking for a legend rather than helping out in the resistance with all of his power.

But, England still needed to try. Ancient Greece had been right about everything else- right down to how the human have made a clone of him, and used the clone's sperm to create a new angel, one that Sweden and Finland had taken with them when they were escaping the non-magical's grasp, over three years ago. But Sealand wasn't, nor ever would be, a true Angel like himself.

England picked up his eldest brother's satchel, and Kitannia jumped in it. He heaved it over his shoulder, and then grabbed a lantern, and made a ball of light appear inside the glass walls with a simple illumination spell. He put a green cloak around his white toga, made it cover his wings as he drew them in, and went out in the grey sky of the early morning of Pandemonium.

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><p><strong>Nine Years Before<strong>

A young boy was crying. He was burnt and there was fire and smoke and heat _everywhere_. He was being carried out by strange men in big suits. "What about mom, dad, and Mattie!" He cried out, trying to convince them to go back, to make sure they were alright. Because he would be nothing without his family, and he saw a few men go back inside after they got him onto a stretcher. The boy struggled as he watched, waiting for someone, anyone to come out with another member of his family, someone for the boy to cry with.

"I'm sorry, Alfred… So, so sorry…." A voice that he only partially recognized spoke to him, and he just continued crying, flames lighting up his face and eyes. They stuck a weird mask over his face as he coughed, and he was forced to watch with teary blue eyes as his entire life was burnt to ash right in front of him.

* * *

><p><strong>Nine Years Later<strong>

Alfred woke up in a flurry of pillows flying everywhere, his alarm clock screeching in his ears. The college student woke up from that nightmare again, and sighed as his panicked blue eyes slowly took in his surroundings. He sighed as he came to realize that he was in his dorm room, not in the house of his youth as it burned to the ground in front of his very eyes. It had been a while since he last had that dream- actually, he stopped having them regularly when he was fifteen years old. But the night he became an orphan would likely haunt him so long as he lived.

He sighed loudly, feeling the sense of panic drain out of his system, before jumping out of bed. "No point in focusing on the past!" Alfred proclaimed happily, grabbing his glasses off his bedside table and slapping them on his face before running around his room to try and find a pair of clean clothes somewhere in his room before he had to go to his first class. He grabbed a bagel from his pantry, swabbed some butter on it before tossing it into the microwave, and starting his faulty coffee maker with a couple swift movements.

He heard the second-hand machine start with a groan, and pulled his "Martin the Martian" cup out of the cabinet to pour in his cream and sugar.

Alfred was a college student, living by himself, getting in on a football scholarship. He was majoring in engineering, actually. He got into Georgia Tech last year. The microwave started beeping, alerting the blond that his bagel was done heating up, he popped the door open with the press of a button, and popped the bagel in mouth, taking a huge bite out of it. As he did so, he hummed the theme of his football team- he had heard it many a time during the games, and knew it by heart.

The drip on his coffee had gone far enough, so with a mouthful of bagel, he turned it off so he could stop hearing the screeching of the old machine. He poured his coffee into his mug, and drank it, even though it was as hot as the surface of the sun.

In the light of the midmorning, his grandfather's model of the Rambling Wreak gleamed gold. He felt a pang in his heart, but he was able to get over it pretty easily. Alfred wasn't going to let those old memories haunt him just yet- because he was strong. He had been living with that grief for nine years now.

Alfred's phone went off; the theme from Psycho's famous scene could be heard in the room next to the kitchen. Placing the mug down emptied of the elixir of life, he went off to grab it. Listening intently, Alfred heard his best friend, Tony speaking to him.

"Yo, Alfred, a couple of the guys want to go out after football practice tonight. You in?" Tony asked enthusiastically.

"Totally! I'll see you in the lecture!" The blond easily agreed- even if he wasn't going to be drinking, he was happy to do something to take his mind off the 'accident' that had been brought back to life the night before in his nightmare.

"Yeah, hope you got your essay done!" Tony noted in a teasing voice, and it was then Alfred remembered that he needed to go print it out at the shop. He pushed that aside.

"Why, 'cause you didn't finish yours?" Alfred teased his friend, only to hear him sputter, and start laughing loudly, liking the quiet humor Alfred only used on very rare occasions.

"Nice. See ya later." Tony said sarcastically, and Alfred felt happy he was the only one able to read his friend that well. Everyone else couldn't read him at all, and had a hard time understanding him.

"Yeah." Tony hung up, as he had limited minutes. He shoved his phone into his pants pocket, and after grabbing his flash drive out of his computer, the blond headed out the door to go to Barnes and Noble, before class in search of a new book to read. He just finished his last one, and still hadn't found the time to get a library card. He also needed to print out that paper.

Alfred had another tedious day ahead of him, leaving his coffee cup out for him to wash later. He didn't realize that he wouldn't get the chance to do that. Not for a very long time.

* * *

><p><strong>That Evening<strong>

Bare footsteps slap down on pavement. Green eyes darted around the tunnel entrance. He didn't need to be caught here. He carried the lantern with the dim light of the magical sphere of light he had conjured so that the man didn't have to use a candle. God knew that the stock of those were low enough without being used on missions that might fail. He set the lantern down as he reached the back of the cave, along with his bag.

England knew he had to hurry, because already, the grey morning of his world was being replaced by the color of twilight as the sun rose into the sky. Days were short, because under the non-magical's reign, night was to be eternal. It made sure that the Native-Borne had a greater chance of being caught. Magic didn't work as well as it did in day at night. In fact, hardly any magic at all worked at night.

His green cloak swayed in the breeze, and his wings ruffled underneath it. It was uncomfortable for him to keep them so close, but it was necessary these days. He turned back around, to see if anyone was following him. The green-eyed man sighed softly with relief, and pulled the uncomfortable cloak off him, leaving him solely in his white tunic and gave his wings that freedom.

Kitannia mewled from inside England's bag. The angel opened it with slight amusement, and the anima jumped out. "You silly thing," England told his anima with a hint of amusement, causing it to glare at him with green eyes that mimicked his own. He picked the cat up with care, and placed him on his lap so that he could scratch the folded ears.

The cat purred as the angel did so, and placated, he allowed England to get back to his work. The angel pulled out a piece of chalk to call upon the magic of the world. Since he was one of the Native-Born, the magic came to his call almost immediately. Before he let it overtake him, he put his cloak back on, and covered his head with it. Kitannia went back into the satchel without a fight, and he locked it with Magic. England's green eyes widened and started glowing a bright green, his pupil shrinking to almost to nothing as the magic over took him.

"_Take me to wherever the chosen lies_," He spoke in an almost possessed voice, and there was a great flash of light, before England lost consciousness, his world fading peacefully around him.

Alfred's day had been uneventful. He had turned in his college paper, had attended his classes and lectures, had even gone to football practice, and _now_ was where things decided to get freaky? Life made no sense to him, and neither did fate. Which this meeting was, in fact. But Alfred didn't believe in such things, he hadn't since he was eleven. The rain from the afternoon was drifting off, leaving the city chilled in autumn.

"Yo!" Alfred called out to the two holding the unconscious man. "I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing." The two stiffened, the third in their arms was hanging limply as they tried to stuff him in the back of a van. They took too long to answer, especially in this part of town. Alfred's eyes narrowed. They panicked, and dropped the sorry son of a gun on the unforgiving pavement. His green cloak (?) was soaked with water that was on the street, and Alfred watched as the men ran.

He walked over with confidence to where they had dropped the man, before kneeling down, and picking him up, Alfred turned him onto his back to get a good look at his face. He gathered the man's upper body so that he could get him into almost a sitting position. The man's pale face was a bit muddy, but looked relatively peaceful. The man was still breathing, that was good. But he couldn't quite tell the hair color, for it was wet, mostly covered by the hood of the strange green clock, and what Alfred could see was also muddy.

Alfred pulled one of the man's eyelids up to examine the pupils-something he had learned from the medic who had adopted him- and noticed that the pupil seemed relaxed, but it did respond to a bit of light. The man was unconscious-sleeping, most likely- not poisoned or anything of that sort. His eyes were, however, a charming emerald green color. He let the lid go, and watched it droop lazily back down to cover the man's enchanting green eyes.

Alfred absently noted he was quite handsome, even covered in blood.

The bag attached to the man had something in it, and whoever had tried to take the man had obviously tried to get it off, but it seemed to be made of a hardy, tough fabric that Alfred couldn't recognize for the life of him. It also seemed to be locked by something, and Alfred couldn't see a key anywhere on the man's person.

The man hadn't been woken by two men trying to take him, not even when he landed flat on his face against the street pavement. Something told Alfred that he wasn't going to wake up by a simple shaking. Due to the fact he was definitely curious about the green-eyed man, Alfred was sure as hell not going to just leave him there. Besides, he was a hero, and heroes don't leave people in the middle of the streets, unconscious.

He balanced the young man's limp body in one arm, as he pulled out his cell phone in the other. Plans with Tony had to be cancelled, unfortunately. The phone rang twice, before someone picked up.

"Alfred, I thought you said you were coming?" He asked with slight disappointment in his voice. Alfred felt bad, but then he remembered the man currently in his arms. He had something to be doing, and that was all that mattered.

"Sorry, but something serious came up that has taken my attention." He kept it purposely vague, and because of that, his best friend prodded deeper into the matter. Alfred knew that, but something told him that he couldn't just go tell Tony that he was picking a random stranger up off the streets just because he was almost kidnapped. He would get another lecture on how he couldn't be a hero to everyone, and that wasn't what he wanted to hear right at that very moment.

"Anything I should be worried about?" Tony was onto him, but Alfred just pushed off his suspicions with a hearty laugh. Hopefully Tony would believe it, since it was partially true.

"Nah dude, just reliving some _old memories_, nothing to be worried about!" He accented the 'old memories' phrase, and Tony let out a sound of understanding. He knew _exactly_ what Alfred was talking about, and he also knew that he still had nightmares about it time to time.

"Alright then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow…" Tony conceded without a fight. "You know I'm here for you, Alfred." The tone was concerned, saying, _alright, I believe you, but you and I are going to talk about this later, 'kay?_ And he most certainly wasn't looking forward to his friend's prying into the situation.

"Yeah, see ya tomorrow Tony!" He laughed, before hearing his best friend hang up. The blond turned his attention back to the man he was currently holding up with his knees, and his arm around his neck.

"Alright then, now to get you to my place." He gently set the young man down, before standing up so that he would have better leverage to pick him up off the ground. Alfred attempted to wiggle his arm under the man's shoulders, but was stopped by something that he didn't even believe in. His blue eyes widened as he felt the feathers and the shape, and there was no mistaking what they were.

_Angel's wings. _

Alfred froze in shock, being sure not to drop the man, but not picking him up either. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and his thoughts were running a mile a minute. He felt the man-angel- shiver. And Alfred was shocked out of it by the force of the shiver.

He pealed the green cloak off the man, and saw that all he was wearing underneath it was a short, white toga that was also sopping wet. Alfred pressed his opposite hand to the man's jugular vein, to find his pulse beating sluggishly. It was far too slow, and the man was far too cold for Alfred's liking. Alfred pulled off his vintage bomber jacket, and pulled it around the man's shoulder. The wings hung limply, but they were most definitely attached. Instead of carrying him using his arms, Alfred instead slung the angel onto his back, piggy back style.

The jacket was long enough that it covered the angel wings, much to his relief. But his apartment was too far away, and who knew how much longer the angel could take in the cold. The school was practically deserted now, so Alfred could probably camp out in the science room.

Decision made, he headed back to campus, angel on his back.

Somewhere along the way, the angel stopped breathing, and it made him start running for the class. When he saw the doors to the building in sight, he practically cried out in his joy. He opened the doors with a slam, and made a mad dash to the closest room, ignoring the fact that he was starting to feel a cramp in his side.

He lay the angel down as gently as he could, and fell to his knees, bending at the waist to desperately try and hear a heartbeat. It was faint, but there. He had to get the man to start breathing again.

He pushed down on the heart three times in compressions, and then pinched the man's nose, and went mouth-to-mouth. It was all he knew how to do, and Alfred didn't have the time to feel awkward about it. He pushed air in, and felt the man's chest rise beneath him. He sat up, looking to see any change. He heard a splutter and a cough from the man's lips, and then saw the man's breathing even out. At the same time, Alfred didn't see the chain seemingly made of light snaking out from the man's neck, which was sneaking its way to Alfred's right hand.

No, he was more concerned by the fact green eyes scrunched close, before slowly, sleepily opening to see Alfred on top of him. Emerald green eyes widened in fear as the Angel woke up. The chain of light wrapped itself around Alfred's hand, and he yelped in pain as it burned him a bit, and the angel gaped in shock.

Because not only had he found the mythical America, from the looks of the glowing chain, he had accidentally been _bound_ to him as well.

"_Oh, bloody hell!"_ The Angel murmured with a troublesome ball of feelings all mixed into his voice, feelings that consisted largely of both awe and annoyance.

* * *

><p>"Oh Bloody Hell," The angel exclaimed as he watched Alfred with big, green eyes. Huh, whoever would have guessed that Angel's would have British accents? Alfred most certainly wouldn't have, that was certain. "What in the name of Pandemonium have you done?" The Angel asked him, with not a small bit of anger in his British voice.<p>

"Uh…. Saved your life?" Alfred asked, confused, and perhaps a bit too snarky for his purposes. "If you _wanted_ to die in a dark ally in the shady part of downtown Atlanta, _excuse me_." Alfred rolled his eyes, and sat back so he was sitting on his butt once more. The green-eyed, British, Angel's eyes narrowed at that. It was then Alfred noticed the golden, shining chain that lead from his hand, to the Angel's neck, where there was already a collar. "And, by the way, what's this?" He asked the angel in a deceptively calm voice, holding the chain at his eye level. Because really, this guy was an angel, with wings- it couldn't possibly get weirder at this point in time.

"_That_, for your information, is a binding chain." Alfred examined it, before tugging at it slightly. "It binds me to you. If you call on me, I have to answer your plea for help. I almost thought they were complete myths." The angel paused, looking slightly confused. "And, what in the name of the Native-Borne is an Atlanta?" Alfred looked at the green-eyed angel with a look of incredulity.

"It's a city. The one you're in right now," Alfred deadpanned, one of his eyebrows rising with disbelief. How could a man-let alone an _angel_- not know what Atlanta was? The Angel looked up, his green eyes appearing to be deep in thought, and his eyebrows scrunched up as if trying to- "Oh, and what's up with the eyebrows? I thought angels were supposed to be the very ideal image of beauty." The angel's face looked at him with a look of very, very, deep anger, eyes narrowing.

"I'll have you know those are a family trait of the United Kingdom family, you git!" The angel snapped at him, and after Alfred's amusement of making an _angel_ snap, (because, really, weren't Angels supposed to have unlimited patience?) He noticed something odd with what the angel referred to.

"Do you mean the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland?" Alfred asked with a hint of curiosity, and the Angel looked up in surprise-his green eyes widening with something, and asked Alfred with a bit of trepidation. The taller blond felt the first inklings of fear enter his heart, and Alfred actually started seriously reading the atmosphere.

"How did you know the full name of my kind?" The Angel watched him warily, and Alfred realized that the angel was curling up on himself, not unlike an animal that had been cornered. Alfred backed up slowly, giving the angel a bit more room to move around, and to give himself a head start if the angel attacked him.

"It's not the name of your kind," Alfred began slowly, soothingly, trying to get the Angel to relax again. His hands were up; a symbol of surrender, trying to show that he meant no harm. "Last time I checked, it was the name of a European _Nation_, comprised of England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. Not the name of angel-kind." But the Angel only seemed to become more frightened, his green eyes looking around the room for some kind of escape.

Alfred's hand started burning, because the chain that connected them was glowing with some kind of heat that was eating away at both his body and his heart. Both Alfred and Angel realized that the chain would make it impossible for either to escape. That made the unintelligible feeling grow inside both their hearts.

"You're a Tophet, aren't you?" The angel asked in a terrified tone, his eyes wide and scared. It was then Alfred realized that they both were _afraid _of the other. "And they _got you,_ you, the one supposed to save us all, the Native-Borne, and they _got you_, and you're going to _kill _me, and, and, we're _bound _together!" The angel was blabbering at this point, and Alfred took pity on him. He slowly walked towards the angel with his hands stretched out, and angel was still in a state of panic when Alfred reached him, so he took advantage of it, and drew the angel into some kind of hug.

"Calm down, angel-dude- I don't even know what a Tophet is, let alone could I be one." The angel struggled for a moment, but eventually, the creatures' struggles waned, and he was left just in Alfred's strong arms, his heart beating a bit too fast for Alfred's liking, but calming down. "Now then, tell me what your name is."

"England, but I figured you knew that, you said it- along with my brother's names- so…" The Angel- who was apparently named after a country- had calmed down, and it was then Alfred realized that not only had he calmed down, but the chain that connected the two of them- which only seconds before been hot to the touch and burning the skin of his hand, and gripping Alfred's heart with fear- now had a soothing feel to it, and it flooded his heart with relief, and a sense of calm.

"Okay, you're England. So, you mind telling me a bit more about this chain?" As Alfred said that, he did what his childhood therapist often told him to do, and sent out a feeling of calm throughout his body, just as he had done whenever something had reminded him about the fire when he was younger. The effect became almost instantaneous on England, who visibly relaxed, and leaned into Alfred's embrace. That was interesting, he noted, and Alfred decided he had to play with that later.

"I-I don't know much about it… thought it was a myth….." England's voice had dwindled to a mumble, his green eyes shutting as his outburst and adrenaline rush left his body, and the events of that day took their toll on his body and mind, and Alfred wondered what he was going to do. He had an angel, soaked to the bone, wearing nothing but a soaking wet toga that was muddy and ratty and Alfred's own jacket, who was apparently scared to death of humans- nor did he know where he was, or that his name was actually the name of a piece of a country. What could he do?

"Yo, do you have a home?" He asked the angel in a soft voice, simply trying not to startle him at this point. Green eyes looked up at him tiredly, and Alfred felt his heart soften to mush. England the angel was pretty cute, and that was saying something, because normally Alfred didn't bat for the other team.

"That's right," England muttered, "Supposed ta take you home… The bind just finalizes it…." Alfred was confused by what the angel meant by that, but all of a sudden, England started chanting something softly under his breath, and the world was dissolved in a blinding flash of light.

When Alfred awoke once more, he sure as _hell_ wasn't in Kansas anymore. Not that he was in Kansas in the first place. He'd only been to Virginia, the Capital, and Georgia. But still, the line still made an uncanny amount of sense to the American, and he had always secretly wanted a chance to say that and have it make sense. Well, that and, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

There was also a _cat_ on top of him, a bog, heavy one with blue eyes, a white, long, furry coat with a fuzzy brown tail, and a collar of the same color. It also had these weird lines beneath its eyes that made it look like it was wearing glasses.

As soon as he sat up, the cat bounced off him, its tail wagging a mile a minute, before it hopped back up to him, to show him a piece of paper that was attached to its leg. _Americat_, it read. Suddenly, the dots clicked inside Alfred's head.

"Oh, is your name Americat?" The strange dog-like cat yowled happily, jumping onto his owners face to lick it, before hopping back down again. Alfred laughed. "So you aren't Toto, but I _still_ think we sure as hell aren't in Kansas anymore. The cat nodded his head furiously, as if agreeing with Alfred. The blond had to laugh at Americat's antics. He scratched at the cat's ears, before the silly thing turned over onto its back to get a belly rub.

Alfred didn't know how to explain it, but he felt as though he had to keep this cat safe, with everything in his power. He lifted his right hand to grab the cat, but he felt something tug back, as if weakly trying to stop his right hand from moving. He looked down, to see what was holding it down, and saw the chain, still glowing, though not as brightly as it had earlier.

"Whoops, I guess I need to go find England." The cat yowled as the human stood up, and Alfred had to laugh. "Feeling a bit miffed you aren't gonna get carried?" He asked the cat in a teasing voice, despite knowing the fact the cat couldn't answer. But, surprisingly, the cat actually let out a small meow of disappointment, and agreement. Alfred raised his eyebrows, and toasted an invisible wine glass in a tribute to the troll faces. "Not bad," He joked with the cat. "But now I have an angel to track down." The cat perked back up, its tail wagging as Alfred stood up.

Strangely enough, Americat kept following him, but Alfred didn't even bother wondering why. It seemed like a dog, with its wagging tail and excitable disposition, and Alfred was almost wondering, should he decide to keep it, if he could walk it on a leash.

The chain was a pretty easy thing to follow, and the faint light emitting from it certainly helped a bit. It brought him straight to a cave, where he found England curled up in a ball like…. Well, like an angel. Americat was being strangely quiet, simply observing the angel. Alfred didn't quite understand why the angel was asleep, but he had the strangest want to protect the angel from harm. And waking England up at this point in time would only serve to frighten him again.

Alfred instead chose to wrap himself around England, in a small attempt to give him some warmth in this cold, dark cave. The feeling coming from the chain was peace, and Alfred wanted to keep it that way, for as long as he could. He wanted to protect the angel.

* * *

><p><strong>Earlier that Day<strong>

"Oh, _mon dieu_, where did that silly Angel go this time?" France asked himself as he walked into England's empty room. This wasn't funny. England was the only full-grown Angel in existence- and if one excluded the man-made Sealand, he was the only Angel _at all_. It would be horrible if they caught him- or worse, _killed him._ England's magic might have been uncontrollable, but it was some of the most powerful around. Angels were revered in the community because they symbolized purity of the bloodline. There was no non-magical blood in the mix whatsoever.

And England would be the last of his kind, even if he was alive and free. France continued to look around, seeing if there was any note telling him where his temperamental partner had run off too. His cloak was gone, as was Kitannia. France sighed as he found none. "You better be alright, _Angleterre_." His anima huffed, obviously disappointed that he wouldn't be able to terrorize the snobbier cat.

"_Franchatte_, _mon_ _mimi_, you should be more worried about his safety than the fact you cannot tease him," France sighed, and his long-haired cat anima mimicked him. He saw his father's bird anima, fluttering around the room, holding a piece of paper in his hands.

"What are you doing here, _petit oiseau_?" He asked the bird, before unfurling the piece of paper. He began to read it, just like he would any other letter from his father, unknowing of the tragedy inside.

_If you are reading this my son, then I am dead. Take care of Pierre for me._

"_Non!_" France cried out, but it was too late. With a brief pinch, and a sudden stretching of France's soul, Pierre was now was responsible for a piece of France's soul, like _Franchatte_ was. France grieved at the death of yet another one of his kind. He was now the last of the _Diamantes_. They weren't very good fighters, but they had a few useful traits, such as that his skin could become as hard as a diamond, and he could attract woman and men to him if he was trying. In short, his people had been good at surviving and repopulating, since they only needed one of them still alive to have another _Diamante,_ and they didn't even need to give birth- they simply had to steal a non-magical and imprint their traits unto it. But this was his father, Gaul, not just any other _Diamante_.

Canada was a diamante as well, with his skill being invisible, because he was perduian. France would have to seduce a human to pass on his traits to. He didn't like doing it, but it would have to be done soon enough, so as soon as he held the service for Gaul, he'd have to find some unsuspecting person.

As he looked outside to see the fading sunlight, France sighed once more. He and England had their spats, but they were still friends. Well, kind of- the fights England and he had in their teens aside. "Franchatte, I do believe we have an Angel to find," The diamante picked his anima up, and left the cozy house quietly, Pierre following him swiftly with a small twitter of sadness, as though the bird was missing his old master already.

* * *

><p><strong>Somewhere in the Dimenticato Woods<strong>

He was fresh out of the Academy, graduating at the top of his class, despite his…monstrous bloodline. And his first assignment was to capture the grandchild of one of the greatest monsters of all time. It wasn't going to be an easy task, especially if this so-called 'Native-Borne' was anything like his grandfather. However, the 'Frying Pangle' ruled these woods, and had laid several traps to ward off hunters and Tophet's alike. But Germany wasn't going to be scared by a few traps- he was made of stronger stuff. Even though now all he had to fight with were his bare hands, he was stronger than that.

Why were they called the Frying Pangle? It was a question that resounded in Germany's mind. Germouser stalked at his side, blue eyes staring intently at the green around them. Suddenly a cat with a strange curl of long hair jumped out of a bush, and it mewled in fear. Germouser stood straight, looking surprised. Germany did the same. That cat wasn't attacking him, it was _running_ to Germouser.

The strange, beige cat cowered before the grey anima, before Germouser made a sound rather like a sigh, before awkwardly nuzzling the strange cat on his head. Germany watched the whole exchange with curious blue eyes. "What are you up to, Germouser?"

The strange cat looked to Germouser, who nodded, before hopping up to meet Germany. "Ve-miau!" The cat was cheerful, and a part of Germany's heart melted. He couldn't help it, he loved animals, all animals. Sure, he loved dogs, but cats also had a special place in his heart. He knelt down on one knee to better reach the cat.

"Aren't you a cute one?" Germany scratched behind the cat's ears with a big hand, and the cat leaned into the touch, purring louder than Germouser ever had. Germany noticed the collar on the cat, it looked very well made. He found the tag, and when he read it, he wondered if this was the anima of the man he was looking for. "Itabby? Where's your body?" He asked the cat, and it tilted it's head, confused.

Germouser sighed once again. He meowed something to the cat, and the cat's face lightened up. He nipped at Germany's hand lightly, and then started walking over into the woods. Germouser walked beside him, looking almost protective of the cat. It made Germany wonder how they even knew each other, and if the cat knew any other animas. He had let the cat do as he pleased for the larger part of the time, occasionally showing up with a pompous cat with a white face and paws, as well as a brown coat and a mysterious strand of hair that stood up by itself. He also had purple eyes, but Germany had never thought anything of it.

His _cat_, of all things, might be an internal spy for the Tophet to exploit at a later date. Well, Germany would have to keep an eye on the all-too-serious cat from this point on, because who knew what it was doing when it when out.

As the beige and light brown cat with the strange curl lead him along the worn path, he found himself wondering. If this was Italy's anima, was Italy really a worry? _Yes, he was_, his mind and morals, beaten into his mind by his training, argued.

Germouser nuzzled a cowering Itabby when he was frightened by a squirrel that jumped in front of him without warning. That showed otherwise, and Germany was beginning to think this wasn't necessary, and the fact he no longer knew what to do, and that frightened him. Itabby suddenly took off at a run to go see something ahead of him.

"Itabby! Ve~! Where'd you go?" Germany crouched in the bush, ready to spy on the enemy before engaging. Germouser walked straight out over to the enemy, much to his horror. "There you are, you silly thing!" Germouser sat back on his haunches, and meowed to get Italy's attention. "Oh! Hello there Holy Mouser!" The cat allowed itself to be picked up by the Native-Borne, and started purring as Italy began petting him. "It's been awhile since I last saw you!" Italy put the cat down as Itabby became pawed at his owner's feet.

Germany froze at the foreign name- his cat wasn't _Holy_ Mouser, it was _Ger_mouser. All of a sudden, a blur of white fur came careening towards his own grey anima. It turned out to be an albino cat with a scar over one of its eyes. It yowled happily as it began nuzzling his pristine cat's fur. Germouser did nothing to stop it, though. A yellow bird tweeted as it fluttered after the cat.

"Prupouncer! Gilbird!" the Native-Borne sang happily. "Is Prussia nearby?" He pet the albino anima, and the cat yowled in appreciation. The cat was obnoxious, and Germouser apparently agreed with that as he swatted at the albino anima, but strangely, he also nuzzled the cat affectionately.

"Why wouldn't the awesome me follow my amazing anima!" A familiar yet unfamiliar voice called out, and when Germany turned, he saw an albino man running over to the cat and bird that had joined Italy. "I'm not like Austria who lets them run wild! Or like mein little Bruder who doesn't even let us see him anymore!" Germouser let out a displeased meow at that, and Prussia picked the cat up in a hug, before setting it back down as he sat down.

"It's only because you're still alive that we know he's still around!" Prussia exclaimed happily. "Fuck what France and Gaul told us, mein Bruder survived!" Gaul…. That named rang a bell in Germany's mind. It was the name of the blond Native-Borne they had killed the night of graduation, so they could teach the Tophets how to kill them properly.

"Can you believe it's been fifteen years, Prussia?" Italy spoke in a soft voice. His hand petting Germouser absentmindedly, as he had walked back over to the Native-Borne that was the target of Germany.

"No, it hardly feels like ten. Since he disappeared, since he sacrificed himself to save you…." Prussia looked away, his red eyes looking sad. "To save us all." Germouser stood up from where he was being pet by Italy, walked over to Prussia, and nuzzled his hand. It was a gesture that was offering sympathies. Germany wondered why this all was happening. He especially wondered why those two seemed so familiar to him, especially Prussia. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't even notice the creeping white cat, sniffing him out from behind him. It wasn't until Prupouncer was landing hard on his back, causing him to fall forward and out from behind the bush that he realized that his cover was blown.

He had two native-borne on his hands! When it already was difficult to kill one of them, there was no way in Pandemonium that he could kill two of them without getting killed himself! "Italy, get behind me." Prussia's voice spoke up, strangely cold from where it had been happy, although perhaps a bit too narcissistic for Germany's liking.

"A Tophet, Hmmm?" He heard Prussia's cold voice start sounding sadistic, and scary. "I figured I'd see one of you popping up soon enough. After all, you killed Gaul the night of your Graduation, right?" Germany didn't get up, and Prussia walked over to kick him in the side. Germany grunted. Prussia kicked him again.

"Gaul was a great man. And I have to break the news to his _son_ that he's dead!" Germany coughed out blood at the next kick to his gut. He attempted to grab Prussia by the foot, but Prussia vanished into thin air, only to appear again and kick him on the back. Germany let out another grunt. "I hate your kind so much, you claim that we're monsters, but really, don't you have the same blood running through your veins?"

Germouser watched his body with sad eyes. Germany sent out the feeling of panic to his anima, and the cat responded, attaching itself to Prussia's back, and causing the albino to be knocked off balance, giving the Tophet the chance to stand up and get into a fighting stance. He heard Italy gasp, but Prussia was fighting to get the cat off his back. "Holy Mouser, what's gotten into you!" He asked the cat, with an incredulous voice.

"That is mein cat, Native-Borne monster. Germouser, to me." Germany's voice was hard, and his gray-furred cat responded immediately, running to his owner's side. Italy's eyes, which had been mostly closed in a strange way, were opened wide. They were bright, melted amber, and they stared in shock at Germany's own blue, and his heart beat harder at the sight of them.

"N-no…n-no…. You-You couldn't be…?" Italy's happy voice was suddenly shaky, unsure. It made something in his heart ache, but he knew that whatever Italy was like didn't matter. He was an enemy to be killed. Germany took his weapon of choice out, a rifle that he had carried with him for years. He aimed it at the Native-Borne, who only stared in shock, continuing to blubber uselessly.

Prussia, on the other hand, attacked Germany from behind. "Don't you _dare_ attack Italy!" He yelled at the Tophet, jumping on him, and overpowering the strong man with ease. If Germany was a lesser man, he would have admitted it frightened him. But he wasn't, so he wouldn't.

"Prussia!" Italy called out at the albino, who had pulled out a sword at this point that he was holding to Germany's throat. "Look at his face!" He begged the older Native-Borne, and Germany found himself on one level wondering _who_ he looked like, to invoke such a strong reaction.

"Why Italy! He's a Tophet! And they're unredeemable!" Prussia argued with the younger Native Borne, and Germany tried to escape, but his efforts were fruitless. The albino was far stronger than he was. That was new, he had been the strongest in his class, and he was second only to Denmark and Sweden. One of whom had backed out on the organization not too long ago, taking with him an experiment and a fellow member of the Nordic group, Finland.

"He looks _just_ like _him_!" Italy walked closer to Germany, and kneeled down to get a good look at his face, his amber eyes looking hurt and frightened, but there was some hope there, and that made something in Germany's heart ache.

Prussia got right up into his face, red eyes staring hard into Germany's own blue, before widening with shock. And then with a resounding clang to the back of his head, Germany's mind went blank, save for pain. He heard a voice that said something like, "Hungary, what was that for!" But the ringing in his ears and mind made it impossible to tell who was saying anything.

And as his world went back, he realized he probably would die before he woke again, but he was gone before panic could seize his mind. And in his final moments of consciousness, he had the familiar sight of a small girl in a green dress, with a big smile on her face, holding out some flowers for him, before that faded away as well.

* * *

><p><strong>Back in the Cave<strong>

When England woke up, he felt warm, happy. It was a strange feeling to not wake up from some nightmare in a cold sweat. But instead, he was waking up like France and Spain would- languidly and sleepy. He couldn't even bring himself to panic when he saw that he wasn't alone, a man was spooning him, holding him tightly. A cat –which he assumed was the other's anima- was currently on his chest.

It took him a moment, but then he recognized the man. This was America. _America_ was _spooning _him. That sent shock, surprise, and a strange feeling of pride through him. He had found him, against all odds, even when everyone thought he was crazy. It almost made tears come to his eyes, even though the moment was just about ruined when America snorted in his sleep.

Unfortunately, England knew better than to stay here for very long, because there was always the chance that they would end up getting caught by a Tophet, or worse- the administration. Why, it was just a year ago they lost Liechtenstein to them, probably for some sick and twisted experiment, from what little information they had gotten out of Finland.

Finland was slowly coming around, but the ex-Tophet was still a little screwed up in the head, and Sweden, unfortunately, though he was Babeline, couldn't speak clearly because of some accident when he was first captured to be a Tophet, only exacerbated by his accent, relying on Finland to be his voice most of the time, and Sealand honestly didn't know much about the other experiments, because he had been their golden boy, and hadn't been exposed to the horrific truth.

So, he had to move. "America," England whispered urgently, causing the young man to stir. One blue eye opened, briefly looking surprised, before recognition was seen in the sky blue eyes, and the man sat up. "We need to move." England ordered, and made to stand up, when America grabbed his arm, and looked him right in the eyes.

"Why?" America asked him, looking confused. England was just about to explain that America must have grown up under a rock, but then something happened that caused his heart rate to speed up to what felt like a million beats per minute.

_They weren't alone in the cave._ Footsteps resounded against the walls, sounding so sure of themselves as they walked straight towards America and England. The angel quickly crouched down, and buried his face in America's shoulder, and his binder wrapped an arm around him, trying to comfort the person he was bound too even though he didn't understand the situation.

* * *

><p>I'm sorry, there is going to be more USUK stuff, but this is more just back story and information. It will be focused on USUK and Alfred's entry into the war. Once again. Back story- it's important.<p>

The reason England uses a scythe, when that normally would portray an angel of death, is because the title is a bit of a play-on-words. Pandemonium, when capitalized, is referring to _hell_. When its' written pandemonium, then it just means chaos.

You'll find that a few of them have more than one anima, usually because they can be passed on. In this verse, usually, if either of the two dies, the other will follow suit, but they humans have been separating anima and Native-Borne, or the dead could pass their anima on so long as they were in the same family.

Tophet is another word for hell, but I thought it sounded kinda like _prophet_, and so I decided that was the name for Native-Borne soldiers that hunt down the Native-Borne to kill. They work for the non-magical.

A diamante is a sequin or gemstone applied to fabric, and since France's kind applies their traits to others, I thought it fit rather well. (Hot damn, I'm on a roll for names.)

Canada is perduian, which I get from perdu, which means concealed/hidden.

Sweden is a Babeline- coming from Babelfish, which is something that can translate from one language to another instantly.


End file.
